


The Night Belongs to Lovers

by burkygirl



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Book 3: Mockingjay, Canon Compliant, F/M, Healing, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, Smut, Song Lyrics, Songfic, growing back together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burkygirl/pseuds/burkygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss finds it easier to be honest about her feelings for Peeta at night when no one else can see. Everlark growing back together in three scenes inspired by Because the Night Belongs to Lovers, co-written by Patti Smith and Bruce Springsteen. Trigger warnings for language, allusions to torture and sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Belongs to Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was listening to my music, working away on Phoenix Rising, when Because the Night Belongs to Lovers came to the top of the playlist. It stuck in my mind, demanding to be Everlarked. I tried to ignore it (stupid plot bunny!) but finally, I had to cave and let it happen. So here they are. Three scenes that weren’t in the books. But they could have been. Or maybe they should have been. You decide.  
> 

_ take me now baby here as I am _

_ pull me close, try and understand _

_ desire is hunger is the fire I breathe _

_ love is a banquet on which we feed _

_ come on now try and understand _

_ the way I feel when I'm in your hands _

_ take my hand come undercover _

_ they can't hurt you now, _

_ can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now _

_ because the night belongs to lovers _

_ because the night belongs to lust _

_ because the night belongs to lovers _

_ because the night belongs to us _

Nightfall does strange things to people, bringing with it a wild, whirling sense that anything is possible. Our instincts tell us that the cover of darkness can allow us to be our true selves, free of the fetters and judgement that come with the scrutiny of day and with that realization creeps the innate knowledge that we are not alone in the dark. Danger lurks nearby.

A Hunger Games victor knows that the monsters are real and they don’t only come out at night. They live among us in the sunlight, wrapped in a cloak of respectability, feigning humanity while they sharpen their fangs in plain sight. And at night they slip into our dreams.

Peeta and I walked out of the arena, but we did not escape it. Instead, we played at being in love under the light of the cameras, the machinations of the Capitol turning the experience of first love into a cheap farce nearly as plastic as the Capitol itself.

But alone in the dark of my room, on the train or in the training centre, where we were safe from prying eyes, it was different. I could drop the armour I’ve built to protect myself from the cruel realities of the world and seek comfort in the sanctuary of Peeta’s arms. It is the only place I’ve ever felt safe from the terrors that haunt us both. He kept me grounded. His lips against my brow soothed my pounding heart and his whispered reassurances lulled me back to sleep. And until the rebels left him to the mercy of the monsters, I did the same for him. Now we spend our nights running through underground tunnels while our friends and squad members fall around us.

Snow leans over me with glowing mutt eyes, hissing my name like the lizards in the sewers.

“Katniss.”

I shriek and claw for my bow. I will kill him for what he’s done to Peeta, to me. He deserves to die and then all of Panem will be free.

“Katniss.”

A voice pulls me from the grasp of the shadows that lurk between waking and sleeping and I find myself on my pile of furs in Tigris’s basement. I turn toward the sound and Peeta’s eyes are upon me, full of concern, but clear, for once, of the web of lies and sadness that Snow has laid upon him.

“You’re okay,” he tells me, as he slides up the pole I handcuffed him to before we went to sleep. “It was just a dream.”

The phrase is so familiar, it sets off a longing in me that I am too tired to fight. I clamber over to Peeta, and pulling the key out of my pocket, I unlock him.

“Katniss, no,” he hisses in protest, and so after I have unwrapped his arms from the pole, I reattach his handcuffs. He’s still whispering and arguing, but I am selfish and crawl into the circle of his arms anyway. I bury my face in his neck and breathe in his spicy scent, drawing upon his warmth and security in the knowledge that even if we are heading back out into the war tomorrow, for now he is alive and safe with me.

I feel his body freeze and then begin to tremor. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he mutters. I think of his lips against mine only days ago, his promise to stay with me, and I know that Peeta has already climbed over one of the many barriers between us.

“You won’t hurt me,” I tell him.  

“We protect each other, real or not real?”

“Real,” I answer, settling my legs across his lap and laying my head on his chest with a sigh. My heart begins to slow and I feel a peace begin to settle over me that I have not felt since the day before we entered the Quell.

“I told you about those memories I have,” he begins, “of those nights on the train. I slept in your bed?”

“Real,” I admit. “Effie didn’t like it, but we didn’t care. It kept the nightmares away.”

Peeta shifts a little and pulls me closer, trying to get comfortable against the stack of boxes he’s leaning on. “Did anything else happen?” When I don’t answer, he continues. “They said it did. They said we were lovers. And I remember telling them it wasn’t like that, but then they shot me up with venom and I had all these memories of the train and I got so confused. They told me you were fucking Gale too. They showed me a video of him kissing you and then they used the venom again and I saw all kinds of things, Katniss.”

I look over to where Gale rests on another pile of fur. His back is to us, his neck still wrapped in the bandage I used after I stitched him up. I wonder if he is having a restless night too. He is lying so still, I can’t tell if he’s awake or asleep.

“I just wish someone would tell me what’s real and what’s not.”

I run my finger along the ridges in the chest plate on Peeta’s uniform. “Nothing… like that… happened,” I tell him. “Not with either of you.”

He scoffs and jostles me when he scratches his cheek with his thumb. “There’s nothing shiny about those memories of us in the training centre before the Quell, Katniss.”

He would bring that up. I can feel the heat in my cheeks. The room has grown extremely quiet. I guess that Peeta and I aren’t the only ones awake anymore.

“We thought we were going to die for each other,” I whisper, mortified. “We’d tried so hard to stop the Games, but we failed. I wanted you to understand how much you mean to me. But we didn’t…” I shake my head and swallow. “It was mostly just kissing,” I tell him.

Peeta leans forward until his lips are pressed against my ear. “I used to lie in my cell and think of that night. The way your skin felt under my hands. I remember how soft you felt; how strong you were at the same time.” I am still. I can’t breathe, let alone speak, his words evoking a memory I haven’t allowed to surface until now. “I’m the one who insisted we stop,” he  murmurs. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” I squeak, before darting out from under his arms and diving back onto my pile of furs.

I ignore his murmured urgings to cuff him back to the pole. It doesn’t matter. There will be no more sleeping tonight anyway.

* * *

 

_ have I doubt when I'm alone _

_ love is a ring, the telephone _

_ love is an angel disguised as lust _

_ here in our bed until the morning comes _

_ come on now try and understand _

_ the way I feel under your command _

_ take my hand as the sun descends _

_ they can't touch you now, _

_ can't touch you now, can't touch you now _

_ because the night belongs to lovers _

_ because the night belongs to lust _

_ because the night belongs to lovers _

_ because the night belongs to us _

Wide steel cuffs cut into my wrists, securing them to the arms of the chair in the stark, white room I am sitting in. I look down and see similar straps over my feet, not unlike the ones I saw on Peeta’s feet in one of the propos that the Capitol forced him to shoot. The pungent scent of the cleansers they used to sterilize this space burns my throat and the inside of my nose. There’s a bed in here too, on some kind of pedestal, next to a tray of instruments.

I hear him screaming before I see him. It takes four Peacekeepers to drag Peeta, thrashing and twisting like a man possessed, into the room. “No!” he roars, over and over, as he kicks out at his captors.

I call out to him, but discover I’ve been gagged. This is our punishment for failing to convince the country we are in love. Or, maybe we did convince them, and this is our punishment for not staying together the way we promised.

It took all four Peacekeepers to strap Peeta down to the table and now, completely immobilized, he weeps silently. One arm has been stretched out on a platform that swung out from under the bed and he is cuffed like me. A woman in a white coat and mask enters the room. I can’t tell who she is, but her violet irises tell me that she’s Capitol. And the malevolent gleam in them warn me that she’s most definitely not a healer. Though I think it likely that she enjoys her work. She toys with her tools.

“So, Peeta. We all know how much you love Katniss, but how much does she love you? She spends a lot of time with that  _ cousin _ of hers. Maybe she saves it all for him.”

Peeta shakes his head desperately and moans.

“You want to know what I think, Peeta?” The woman presses a pedal on the floor and the table begins to tilt upright, Peeta still trussed upon it. A whining noise fills my ears. The woman’s voice raises above the noise. “I think that while you’re home with your cock in your hand and fantasizing about her, she’s out in the woods, on her knees, with his cock in her mouth. I think she lets him fuck her. But you, you just get to die for her.”

_ No _ , _ Peeta, _ I try to scream.  _ No, Peeta, don’t listen to her _ . I can’t get the words out around the rag in my mouth, but I do get her attention.

“Ah, Katniss,” she purrs as she turns to me, like she’s only noticing me now. “There you are. Come, dear, it’s past time you told your fiance the truth. How many times  _ have _ you screwed Gale Hawthorne?”

Peeta’s head whips in my direction, crazed and afraid. I shake my head and scream, but I cannot loosen the gag. Peeta’s captor picks a remote off the tray and points it at the ceiling. I look up to see a gleaming contraption lowering from above. It hums like a drill as it moves toward him.

Peeta whimpers as it approaches. He knows what this is, what is coming next. “No. Please, no,” he groans. The woman passes the remote to the Peacekeepers and says she’s going to prepare the ocular devices.

I cannot watch this. I cannot watch them take him from me. But no matter how hard I scream, it won’t stop. I try to beg.  _ Take me _ .  _ I’m the murderer. _ But it moves ever closer. The shrill hum gets louder and more insistent, demanding my attention.

I scream myself awake. The telephone at my bedside is ringing like it’s about to come off the hook. I grab it like a lifeline, gulping and gasping for breath.

“Katniss?”

Peeta’s panicked voice comes over the line. “I heard you screaming all the way over here.”

I sob his name as I clutch at the phone.

“Did you have a nightmare again? You’re okay, Katniss. It was just a dream.”

Unable to get the words out, I nod, but he can’t see me on the other end of the line. His voice is somewhat reassuring, but nothing will convince me that he is safe, that it is truly over, until I see him. “Peeta,” I whimper.

He inhales and exhales slowly. “Unlock the door. I’m coming over.”

I don’t move from the bed. The door is already unlocked. It always is, even at night. It’s been that way since I first found him planting primroses against the side of the house. Peeta lets himself in and out of my house freely during the day now, but I will never forget that awkward first morning when he knocked on the door with a loaf of bread under his arm like he was a stranger or a distant relative coming to visit.

Now we have long chats over breakfast before I go hunting. Laugh at Haymitch tripping over his feet as he tries to chase his escaped geese back into the pen. They are lazy and temperamental, not unlike their owner. Peeta draws me pictures and brings me cheese buns. We play the real or not real game as we walk around the courtyard between our houses on the hill in the Victor’s Village, while the reconstruction of our district goes on below us. We eat dinner with Haymitch in front of the television before parting ways in the evening.

The nightmares haunt me every night, and when I wake, broken over watching my sister die again or terrified out of my mind, the light in Peeta’s room is always on. I don’t think he’s getting anymore sleep than me.

The front door slams and I hear his uneven gate as he rushes up the stairs and into the room in his robe and slippers, just like he did on the train. “Katniss?” He stands uncertainly in the moonlight.

I burst into tears again and hold out my arms to him. He crosses to the bed and crawls up beside me, enfolding me in his embrace. It’s the first time he’s held me since he came back. His pounding heart reassures me that he is actually here, and although not quite whole, he is safe. With me, where he belongs.

“They had you again,” I whisper into his shoulder. “They had you and I couldn’t get to you, just like before.”

He shushes me, threading his fingers through my hair, holding me close. “I’m here,” he whispers. “It’s all right. It was just a dream.”

“Stay with me,” I beg.

Peeta only hesitates for a moment before he lifts up the covers and climbs in beside me. I curl up on his chest and feel his hand brush against the crown of my head, sliding slowly over the nape of my neck, past my shoulders and down my back before he brings it up and repeats the soothing action. My whole body begins to relax.

“That was the worst one you’ve had since I came home,” he muses thoughtfully into the dark. I shrug and so he continues. “I hear you a lot, but I couldn’t stand it tonight. You were screaming my name over and over and I couldn’t get to you. So I called. It was the only thing I could think of.”

I raise myself on an elbow and fix him with a perplexed stare. “You could have come in.”

His face mirrors my own. “Katniss, it’s the middle of the night. Your door is locked.”

I shake my head and settle back down. “No, it’s not. It never is.”

I feel his hand grip my shoulder. “Katniss, that’s not safe,” he says firmly.

I shrug. There’s only Haymitch, Peeta and I up here in the Village, each of us as deadly as the others, equally feared and revered by the other residents of what’s left of District 12. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him.

He shakes my shoulder until I look him in the eyes. “It’s not safe.” He emphasizes each word carefully and I realize that what he’s really saying is that  _ he’s _ not safe.

I press my hand to his cheek. My eyes flick to his lips and then meet his blue orbs. “You won’t hurt me, Peeta.” And then, because I cannot seem to stop myself, I press my lips against his. We have not kissed since that terrifying night in the tunnels. They are soft and warm and as smooth and gentle as I remember.

He freezes for a moment and then his lips begin to move against mine, kissing me back. His hand is in my hair again and his other arm crushes me to his chest. A glow begins inside me, pushing away the talons of fear that are clutching my heart. Peeta lifts himself off the pillows and turns us until I am on my back and he is hovering above me. I wrap my arms around his neck, our lips still moving in the dance that we have perfected, and yet this feels like my very first kiss.

This is a moment that is purely ours and I want to tuck it into my pocket like my pearl and keep it with me, always.

When he finally pulls away, we are desperate for air. My heart is racing again, but in a way that makes me want more. Peeta presses his forehead to mine and cradles my face in his hands. We stare into each other’s eyes, saying nothing, the connection between us morphing into something we’ve never had before. Something Peeta has always wanted. Something I have always resisted, but Peeta crept up on me anyway, as kind people tend to do.

“We should try to sleep,” he rasps. When I agree, he rolls onto his back again and I reassume my favourite position. After a few minutes, he clears his throat nervously, and when I look up, he’s staring anxiously at the lamp on my bedside table. I reach across him and flick it on before settling down again.

We sleep, for the first time in months.

* * *

 

_ with love we sleep _

_ with doubt the vicious circle _

_ turn and burns _

_ without you I cannot live _

_ forgive, the yearning burning _

_ I believe it's time, too real to feel _

_ so touch me now, touch me now, touch me now _

_ because the night belongs to lovers ... _

_ because tonight there are two lovers _

_ if we believe in the night we trust _

_ because tonight there are two lovers ... _

“Katniss.”

A hand sweeps my hair out of my face. The smell of cinnamon and dill wafts through the air. I nuzzle it softly, ignoring the slight callouses, unwilling to let go of the last wisps of the best dream I’ve had in weeks. Something about Peeta and I wrapped around each other in a field of dandelions.

“Katniss, what are you doing down here? It’s the middle of the night. Why aren’t you in bed?”

I open my eyes to see Peeta crouched beside my rocking chair, gazing at me worriedly in the firelight.

“ Peeta!” I wrap my arms around him, relief coursing through my veins. “You came home.”

Five days. That’s how long ago Peeta left our house for the Capitol to have his medications adjusted. Without so much as a goodbye from me. I thought putting some distance between us would make it easier, especially if he didn’t come back to me or this burned out shell of a district. I haven’t heard from him since.

My eyes squeeze tightly shut in a useless effort to prevent the tears that are threatening to escape. Peeta takes me gently by the shoulders and kisses my forehead. “Katniss, where else would I be?”

I answer with a choking sob and the hands that were on my shoulders are now cupping my cheeks and his thumbs are swiping away the moisture he finds there. It takes awhile before I manage to get the words out. “I’m sorry.”

Peeta’s face takes on a contrite expression before he draws me back into his arms. “I’m sorry too. You barely spoke to me for days before I left. Then you wouldn’t say goodbye. I was really hurt and decided to wait for you to call me. But you didn’t. So I got worried and called Haymitch. He said you were back in your rocking chair. I took the first train home as soon as they let me out of there.”

The stress begins to roll off my body. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stand that you were leaving,” I say into his shoulder. “I hate it when I don’t know where you are or if you’re safe, and-,” I take a shuddering breath, “and then I started to wonder if you’d come back at all.”

Peeta inhales quickly and presses his lips to my temple. “Oh Katniss, I will always, always come back.”

I raise my head to look him in the eyes. They are glassy. “Why?”

He shakes his head. “You know why.”

I suddenly realize that I do know why. I’ve always known why I am drawn to this man, why I watched him as we grew up, why I cannot lose my boy with the bread. Even without the Hunger Games, even though I was Seam and he was Town, Peeta and I would have happened anyway.

I’ve just been too blind to see it.

My heart is brimming when I close the space between us again and bring my lips to his. He returns it almost tentatively, sensing this subtle shift in me and he is undoubtedly wondering what it means.

“I missed you,” I breathe, my hands sliding into his thick hair. Our lips touch and cling again. I draw his bottom lip into my mouth, sucking it softly. A low moan escapes Peeta’s lips as he leans in closer, his hand on the nape of my neck. I whisper his name as I nibble a path along his strong jaw and then return my lips to his.

My blood pounds. A thousand twinkling lights race under my skin. This is what Peeta gives to me. Hope. Rebirth instead of destruction. Passion tempered by understanding. This feeling is the answer to all the questions I’ve been too afraid to ask. Why we fought so hard to be free.

It is everything I need and nothing I ever wanted.

Peeta stands up, pulling me to my feet and taking me into his arms. The blanket I am bundled in falls into a puddle on the floor. “I missed you too,” he says into my neck, as his lips travel downward, over my shoulder and into the vee of my nightgown. The hand on my back slides down until it rests just over my hip, where it flexes before travelling back up over my ribs and hovering just below my breast.

Peeta eyes, dark and serious, are watching me carefully while he waits for my permission. “Touch me,” I whisper. “Please.” We both gasp when his strong, capable fingers lightly surround the softness. I lean into the heat accept the gentle pressure of his fingers while I capture his mouth with mine. His thumb flicks across the thin fabric covering my bare breast until my nipple hardens into a tight bud, igniting a throbbing heat between my legs that makes me ache to coil myself around him. He tugs on the neckline of my nightgown until my breast is exposed to him and bends down to draw it into his mouth. His tongue rolls across the sensitive skin and I groan softly.

I am too far gone to even think of asking Peeta if he minds before tugging his shirt up out of his pants and slipping my hands underneath. I need to feel his skin under my hands. I love the firmness of his stomach and the way his muscles cord across his back. When I reach his shoulders, I slowly rake my nails down each side of his spine and then start to work the buttons of his shirt.

Peeta raises his head and watches my fumbling fingers, but doesn’t interfere. Each time I succeed in pushing a button through its little hole, I place a kiss against the exposed flesh. When I get about halfway down, he stops me with a finger under my chin and raises my eyes to meet his own. They are filled with love and trust, precious sentiments that I didn’t know I should treasure until I lost them. We have been given a second chance and this interminably lonely week has reminded me that I should not waste it by giving into fear.

I touch my lips to his and then wordlessly lead him up the stairs to our room. To our bed. 

He leans against the doorframe in silence, watching as I cross over to the bed and turn on the lamp. I’m not really sure where this is going. It feels like the night before the Quell when I led him back to my room after our interviews or that night on the beach. I need Peeta to understand how much he means to me, and I’ve always been so much better with actions than words. I stand in golden glow of the lamp light, trying to ignore the trembling in my knees as I slowly inch my nightgown up my thighs. Peeta’s eyes hold me in place while he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. He watches me like he’s committing the moment to memory, his tongue flicking over his lips when the nightgown reaches my hips. I grasp it and pull it over my head.

The heat in Peeta’s expression takes my breath away. My nerves begin to settle, and I’m left feeling oddly exposed and exhilarated all at once. “Come here,” I say, offering my hand to him. He moves toward me, flicking open the buttons on his cuffs and unbuttoning the rest of his shirt before tossing it to the floor. I run my hands over his broad chest and link my fingers behind his neck. His hands settle at my waist as he tugs me close, offering me a drugging kiss that sends a tingle down my spine and makes my toes curl. 

I reach for his button of his pants, my knuckles brushing against his hardness as I slowly lower the zipper. They crumple to the floor and Peeta kicks them aside. He scoops me up, carrying me the few steps to our bed, before laying me down and crawling up beside me clad only in his boxers.

His mouth finds mine again and then travels along my body. It’s something I’ve allowed him to do before, and I shiver with pleasure as he explores curves and dips and angles. Overwhelmed by the need to touch him in return, I tangle my hands in his hair, allowing them to roam over his back and then slip under the hem of his boxers so I can stroke the curve of his rear.

His eyebrows fly up and he stops kissing a trail along my collarbone. “That’s new,” he mutters, watching me out of one eye, but never actually lifting his lips from my skin.

“Do you like it? I mean, is it okay?” I stammer.

“Fu-, I mean, yeah.” Peeta clears his throat before rising on his elbow to scrub his hand over his face. “You can touch me anyway you like, Katniss. I don’t mind.”

I bite my lip. “What if I wanted to see you?”

He grins at me. “I don’t care if you see me. You already know that.”

I blush and sit up, remembering that day in the arena. We’ve changed so much since then. Peeta doesn’t notice, he’s too busy rolling onto his back. He wiggles his hips, trying to make me laugh so that I forget about my nerves. “So. Do you want to do the big unveiling?”

I snort. “Forget it. I’ve changed my mind.”

Peeta grows serious again and with a gentle tug, pulls me back down across his chest. He kisses the end of my nose and gives me a crooked smile. “You know that would be fine, right? We don’t have to take this any farther if you don’t want to.”

His words wash away the seeds doubt that had begun to germinate in the back of my mind. Rising up on my haunches, I smile back at him and then place a lingering kiss on his lips. I nip his chin before gradually walking my fingers down the trail of fine blond hair on his chest until I have a firm grip on the elastic of his boxers. I slide them over his hips, down his thighs and past his knees until Peeta kicks them away. My gaze moves back up to where his boxers used to be. I’ve felt his erection before, hard against my hip in the morning or when we’re kissing and exploring, so I’m not exactly surprised by its size, but it’s still thicker and longer than I expected. He hisses in a breath when I skim my fingers along the length of him. I take it in my hand and begin to stroke it gently, surprised by the smooth soft skin. It reminds me of a fabric Cinna used to use to make my gowns. What did he call it? Satin.

Peeta gives a helpless groan. “You’re going to need to stop that,” he warns. “I’ve been thinking of your hands on me for way too long.” Curious, I stroke him some more and he gasps, his hips rising and falling on the bed in time with the motion of my hand. “Shit! Katniss, please.” He takes me by my wrist and the laces his fingers through mine. “I don’t know where this is going, but that’s not how I want it to end.” He sits up and brushes his lips against my knuckles before anchoring his fingers into my hair and kissing me until I can’t think anymore. His left hand trails down my neck and closes over my breast, massaging gently and that agonizing need to be close to him returns.

He lays me back against the pillows before he withdraws, caressing my jaw with the pad of his thumb and lifting his eyes to mine. “So, do I get to see you?”

I never believed it was possible to feel so oddly vulnerable and entirely safe all at once. But I discover that it is, and so I nod and brush his cheek with the back of my hand. The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them. “I love you, Peeta.”

His chin falls to his chest and he breathes deeply for a moment, before raising his face to mine again. His eyes are filled with stars and his answering smile is brighter than the sun. “I love you too,” he says. “I love you so much, Katniss.” There’s a power behind his kiss this time that makes me think of my room before the Quell and that night on the beach. But I will not walk away hungry this time.

When I reach down to slip my underwear off, Peeta’s hand guides mine away. “Let me,” he urges. “I’ve been imagining this for so long.” His fingers slip inside and then glide over my bottom, squeezing gently. I gasp at the contact. Then his hand moves down slowly over the back of my leg, taking my panties with it. When they hit the floor, Peeta sits back and stares at me solemnly, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He exhales slowly. “Perfect. You are perfect.”

“I’m not,” I protest. I’ve almost no figure at all, and the burn scars carve a terrible trail of destruction over my body.

“You’re perfect for me,” he replies, before raising my leg to press a kiss to the inside of my knee. “You always have been.” He crawls up next to me and I roll to my side, wriggling closer until we are skin to skin for the first time. My stomach swoops with the contact. The tingly feeling under my skin begins again. Why have we waited so long for this? We embrace again, his tongue slipping into my mouth and touching mine.

My hands clutch his rear and press him closer. He gasps and my greed for him intensifies. We turn slightly and his hand slips between my legs and begins to explore. I groan when his fingers slip into the wet heat of my folds. It feels so good to have him touch me that I roll my hips to help him find the right spot and when he makes contact, a high-pitched moan I’ve never heard before slips from my throat.

“Found it,” he says with a sly grin before burying his face in my neck. I cease thinking, my entire being focused on that tiny bud, my hips rotating in time with Peeta’s touch. I whimper when he lifts his fingers away, watching me carefully as he slides them down, probing gently before slipping them inside. I stretch to accommodate them as they move in and out.

“Katniss, you feel so good,” he husks. “You’re so wet.” His thumb finds that spot again and I respond helplessly. I didn’t expect Peeta to be good at this, at least not the first time. I wrack my mind, trying to think of any mention of him at the slag heap with other girls. No one comes to mind.

“I have some condoms in the drawer,” he admits with a blush. “My brothers… After we got engaged, they said they’d neglected my education.” Even the tips of his ears are red. “It was a long afternoon.”

Relief pumping through my veins, I offer Peeta a smile. “Good thing one of us has some idea of what they’re doing.” After a couple of fumbling attempts, Peeta is finally sheathed and cradled between my hips. He plies me with languid kisses and the heat builds once more. When I can stand it no longer, I rub myself against him and he reaches down to join us at last. His brow furrows in concentration as he presses forward. I will myself to relax. He fills me slowly, my body stretching to allow him entry. I tilt my hips and he slides in further.

“Are you alright?” he asks, sounding worried. “Does it hurt?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. Keep going.”

With a nod, he allows himself to sink deeper inside me and the odd, stretching sensation continues until he can move no farther. A groan passes through his lips. “You feel amazing,” he tells me. “Are you still okay?”

I nod. “It doesn’t feel bad, just different.”

Peeta pulls back again, this time swinging forward faster. His jaw slackens in ecstasy as he moves forward and moans again. He lowers himself to his elbows and brings his lips to my neck, sucking at my pulse point, licking and nibbling his way to my ear. “I love you,” he whispers. “Always.” 

He draws my nipple into his mouth, using his lips and teeth in a way that reignites the throbbing between my legs. “Touch me please,” I beg, and  he reaches between us and finds the little bundle of nerves again and my back arches in pleasure. Instinctively, I clench around him. He moans and curses before he begins to swing his hips in an ancient rhythm. 

“You are so beautiful. So strong,” he whispers in my ear as he continues to massage me. We pick up speed, my hips rising and falling against his.

Something builds in my core, drawing me faster and faster down a tunnel of need. I strain toward the end, unprepared for the beauty that lies beyond it. When I burst forth into the light, flying free, I take Peeta’s hand, bringing him with me, and we vanquish the darkness together.

After, as the fingers of dawn reach through the bedroom window, I listen to Peeta’s heart slow to a more normal pace while he plays with my hair.

“You love me,” he says in wonder. “Real or not real?”

**I smile to myself before turning my head to look at him. Then I tell him, “Real.” **

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Hate it? Let me know. And if you think this is angsty goodness, go take a look at some of the awesome work my pal and brilliant pre-reader Peetabreadgirl has got underway. She’s Everlarking Adele (brave!) and ripping me to shreds with every chapter. It’s going to be a beautiful thing. We’ve got an amazing joint project in the works that’s going to blow your socks off.


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